Direction in Sin
by lokiyan
Summary: Observation of Blair without Chuck in the gap between 2x13 and 2x14. A tiny drabble one shot. C/B


Disclaimer: I own nada

Direction in Sin

She avoided the fountains (Bethesda was especially depressing in the winter when the water's turned off) and instead headed off to the Obelisk, something she considered ugly even if it had some old, BC-old history tied to it. Her black velvet trench laid smooth around her on the bench and she ripped off her headband. It was giving her a headache. She craned her neck back, staring up, up, up seventy feet to the tip of the stone and exhaled, her breath fogging up her view of the cloudless blue sky.

It was difficult, but she managed to escape Dorota. And her mother. And Cyrus. And Serena. It would hardly be an exaggeration if she said that they must have kept a diary of her daily nutritional intake. Every grape counted ("just one more, Ms. Blair, make even ten"), and every breakfast was extended ("Not enough!") and truthfully, if she hadn't left, she was sure she would have gone insane.

Because _fuck_, Blair Waldorf was _exhausted_.

Dealing with her mother's sudden nuptials was exhausting. Serena's tryst with Aaron and her indecision over Dan was exhausting. School, Yale, eating, keeping herself occupied so that she wouldn't think about the fact that being in love with Chuck Bass was the most exhausting of all. She felt like she was running a marathon in her 4-inch stilettos and there's just no finish line, no rest stops because he never left clues.

She had to hand it to him, when he didn't want to found, he made damn sure of it.

Well no, maybe she wasn't running a marathon because that would imply that there would be some sort of direction. It was more like one of those nightmares she used to have as a kid, being stuck in nothingness, a vast expanse of white as far as the eye could see and she just ran, half hoping to hit something and half fearing that she was only running around in circles. And yes, it frightened the hell out of her because she knew she wouldn't stop until her body deteriorated from constant motion. Her fuel was her love for him and she knew instinctively that it's an infinite resource. She was just afraid that her body and her mind wouldn't be able to keep up so that when he did return, he would find nothing except a lifeless, rotten carcass that occasionally twitched from residual energy.

So she kept looking at the contrast of Cleopatra's Needle against the skyline, singular and constant because she knew when she grew tired of it, she could leave, look around, close her eyes and at least find some temporary relief from its insistence on piercing fruitlessly towards the sky. But Chuck didn't pierce through her (well, not figuratively). No, the Basstard was a scheming snake like the devil himself. He coiled his presence around her until all of her instincts, all five of her senses were smothered with him and all she wanted was to lie still and let him devour her whole.

Even now, as he ate at her piece by piece, layer after layer of skin, she just wanted to be closer.

So really, how could he expect her to _not_ look? How could he expect her to wake up in the dress she had worn to her mother's wedding and not reach for him when her nostrils still tingled with the shampooed scent of his long-gone hair?

The cold seeped through her thin leather gloves and she ached still for the warmth of his hand because no matter what he said, they did hold hands once upon a time (although now the past couple of days had seemed so long that she could hardly remember or know anything that did not involve chasing him). Her hair, now limp from neglect stuck to her lip as a harsh wind blew mockingly from behind her and nearly lifted her off the bench. She turned, half expecting him to stand ominously beneath the oak.

Of course, there was nothing. Did she mention that false hope was exhausting as well? That sudden leap of heartbeat and its equally sudden descend into her stomach seemed to increase the gravity beneath of her boots, dragging her to the very depths of Hell, which really, wouldn't be too bad. That was where he was at the moment, she knew and at least they would be together. Lucifer would rather "reign in hell than to serve in heaven" and, sinful as it may be, she just wanted to be one of the fallen, condemned at his side for eternity. Because with Chuck, even if the fall was painful and eternal, even if it felt like choking on fire when she managed to spit out those three words, it would gain a direction, a momentum.

Whatever it would be, it would, at the very least, not be the haunting stillness of time she felt when she read his note.

And damn, she really wasn't sure if she had the strength anymore to pull him up into the light with her like she wanted.


End file.
